


full stop

by winchestersinthedrift



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, ha, this one is kinda ... tag-proof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	

Dean gets his shirt off and is standing beside the bed, tired, swaying on his feet a little, fingers clumsy in the buckle of his belt. It’s a week since they were all first in the Bunker together, a week of strange stuttering back towards some kind of normality, and they didn’t really need to both take this milk run up through Ohio, but it’s been a week (only a week) since they thought they’d seen each other’s faces for the last time, only a week since Sam sat in a basement and thought the sun coming murky through the windows was only there cause Dean wasn’t. They haven’t been alone since then, not really. 

Sam’s lying on the motel sheets, naked, freshly showered and blinking up at Dean, and Dean pauses with his hands tucked into his half-off jeans, looks at Sam harder. 

‘What?’ he says, and lets the jeans drop, kicks them away from the bed, peels of his socks, but his eyes stay all the time on Sam. ‘Sam, what?’

‘Nothin,’ says Sam, ‘kiss me,’ and Dean caves, he does, he can’t help it, he leans over Sam’s torso, lets one knee slip onto the edge of the bed while he kisses unhurried into Sam’s mouth. Sam’s into it, puts a hand on Dean’s hip to nudge him over, tip his balance onto the mattress, but Dean resists a little, draws back from Sam’s mouth.

‘Sammy,’ he says, deep as sin but soft, ‘what?’

Sam presses his lips together a little, flicks his eyes up at Dean’s face, says

‘Dean, really, it’s nothing,’ but Dean waits him out, stays hovering over him, drags a hand down over Sam’s ear and the long line of his jaw. His fingers linger soft over the cords of Sam’s neck. 

‘Is it Mom?’ he says, finally, and Sam shakes his head in the indeterminate way that means _yesnotreallymaybe_. 

‘You,’ he tries, finally, ‘you have a connection with her, you always have.’ 

Dean lets his eyes roll just the tiniest bit. 

‘I was glad I could remember her, some,’ he says, finally, tasting the words. ‘Meant something to me, meant something to Dad, that I could remember her. And she, you know.’ He laughs in his throat a little. He’s sitting up on the edge of the bed now, one leg drawn up under him, hand still playing over the slope of Sam’s neck. ‘She seems nice, I like her. Don’t you?’

‘I mean! yeah.’ Sam’s looking up at the ceiling, not at Dean, but he lets one of his legs fall open a little across the mattress. ‘I just, I can’t. Remember.’

‘I’m aware,’ says Dean, dryly. ‘You were six months old, Sammy.’

‘It’s just,’ says Sam, and cuts himself off, starts again, carefully. ‘I wonder - it’s fine, I’m happy, I just - it’s something, you and her are - are something, and I can’t.’ He stops, seems to struggle for words, gives up. ‘I can’t, you know? Go there with you.’

Dean looks at him lying sprawled back on the pillows, all the big ropey strength of him, lifts his hand and lets it slip down over Sam’s chest, brush over the hairs over his nipples. He looks at the window, licks his lips, looks back at Sam. 

‘Sam,’ he says, ‘Mom ain’t ever held me sleeping and dying and everything in between. It’s good that’s she’s back, it’s good, but, - Sam.’ He crawls right over Sam’s thighs, then, grips his forearms and pulls him up so they’re jostled awkwardly into each other’s space and kisses him all open-mouthed and famished, head bent to take Sam’s jaw deeper against his. 

‘Full stop,’ he says, when they break off for air. ‘Full _fucking_ stop, Sam.’


End file.
